Now That I've Gone on
by Sister of Squeaky
Summary: A series of 1000word drabbles: Dumbledore is dead, and no one is quite sure how to react. [Not HBP compliant written before it came out]


**A/N: **Not mine. Never will be. This is not HBP compatible -- written before it actually, sort of a coincidence... trails off before giving anything away _Just assume that nothing in HBP happened, OK?_

**#1: Going Nowhere**  
**POV: Kingsley Shacklebolt**

We knew it would happen eventually. All of us in the Order. We never spoke of it out loud, but we knew, deep inside, that it would happen some day.

But until it happened, he was still Albus Dumbledore, god-on-earth... infallible, invincible, and utterly _ours_.

I saw it happen, you know. I saw him fall.

We knew it would happen, someday. But we had expected it to be big, loud. We expected the Dark Lord would do it himself. But no. It was not Voldemort who killed him in the end. Nor was it Lucius Malfoy, or Bellatrix LeStrange, or any of a hundred other minions.

All it took was little Slytherin first-year Amadeus Jugson and his poisoned dagger.

And then it was over.

Oh we won the fight, but there was something listless, unsatisfying to it.

He knew he was dying – he didn't need to hear Severus Snape's on-the-spot analysis of the poison. He didn't need to see the results of Poppy Pomphrey's diagnostic spell.

He just looked at little Amadeus, standing there in Moody's grasp, trying to look so aloof but failing so miserably.

Tears came to his eyes. For the pain, or for the boy, I still wonder. And then he whispered, "My dear boy, why?"

And Amadeus, trembling there under the furious gazes of the others, replied, "The Dark Lord will wreak vengeance and will triumph–"

But Albus interrupted him – something which he never ever does – and said, "No, Amadeus. Why did you throw away your life? You had such a very bright future. So very, very bright..."

I think it only sank in then what exactly he had done. As Moody started to pull him away, Jugson began to kick and struggle. "_No_!" he cried out. "_No._ I didn't... I didn't mean to... _Please_... You have to believe me... I didn't want to..." And then he went limp and sobbed.

Silence descended once more as the door shut behind Auror Fleetwood and Jugson. It was not the normal sort silence, but the deep all-encompassing silence when no one wants to say anything because they don't want to admit that what is happening truly is.

Albus opened his eyes again. He was getting pale now. Every movement seems to be an effort, an effort not worth it. _Conserve your strength_, I want to say. _Please, don't speak. Don't rush it. Maybe we can do something... something..._

But his eyes are searching, searching the crowd. Harry Potter, who is kneeling by Albus's head, asks him who he is looking for.

"Severus," Albus rasps. "Where is –?"

Movement in the crowd, and it parts, letting the tall man through. He kneels by Albus's side. "Here I am, Albus," he says quietly in a tone I nearly don't recognize as being his. It has no bite, no anger, no sarcasm.

Albus grasps Snape's hand. "My son," he rasps. "I have always wished I could have done more for you. That I could have given you so much more, so much better..." He pauses, takes a breath. It rattles deep in his chest. He continues, "Do not give up, please Severus. Alastor will help you, keep you safe. Do not think that because I am gone that I am truly _gone_. Life will continue. It will get better." He pats Snape's hand again. "Do well by me, my son. Do not fail me. Do not let them win. Please, Severus –"

He coughs. It is a wet, raspy cough and blood is on his lips, dribbling down and staining his snow white beard. Snape carefully pushes the hair out of Dumbledore's face before bending over and kissing him gently on the forehead. Placing his hand carefully on his chest, he stands and moves back, allowing for another to take his place.

But no one does.

Albus looks around at us and smile – _smiles_! – benignly. "Oh my children," he says quietly, so that we have to strain to hear. "I have never been quite so proud. So very very proud of every one of you. My dear, wonderful children."

Somewhere above us, in our quickly forgotten surroundings, thunder rumbles in the distance. The sky darkens quickly, the shadows covering our little gathering where we stand in the middle of the Hogwarts lawn.

"Ah, the rain," Albus says, smiling once more, staring up at the cloudy sky. "The most wonderful weather of all. It washes away the blood, you know? The sins. The pain. The color. The differences. In the rain we are all the same, clean."

He is silent once more, content to watch the clouds. Harry says something – what, I do not know – but Albus seems to ignore him.

"It is wonderful to pass in the rain," he says. "It will wash away all trace of me and leave another to take my place fully. When I was young I wanted nought but to leave a mark on this earth, and now when I am old, I want nought but to wash it away."

I cannot stand it anymore. I turn away and stare off at the forest. There is a Death Eater on the ground, dragging himself towards the dark, shadowy forest. I know I should go after him – it is my duty, my calling, my oath – but I cannot. I watch him reach the boundary, slowly pull himself into the forest, and then disapparate with a small pop.

My fist clenches around my wand involuntarily. It might as well be me dying a slow and painful death, not Albus, what with all this waiting and standing around and _not doing anything_. I have to do something, anything. I cannot just stand here and let it drag on and on, pain and suffering and so much that he tried to protect us from and that he just should not have to suffer now...

"Headmaster?" That's Potter. Why is he speaking so loudly? "_Headmaster?_ No! No – let me _go_ Snape – Headmaster!"

The thunder rumbles. The rain falls. We do not move. And he is gone. 


End file.
